Insatiable
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: "It seems to me, cher." The older nation began, a vaguely mocking grin on his lips. "That Mathieu finds you rather boring." In which Arthur is old and dense, Matthew is unsatisfied and, unfortunately, the sex seems to be the biggest problem. UK/Canada
1. Chapter 1

I am an unrepentant UK/Canada shipper. I should just give up on US/Canada forever. :| -sees mob on the horizon- Ahaha, jk, jk. But I am madly in love with the pairing at the moment. So...say hello to this little bitch of a plot bunny. Lets just see where this goes...

Warnings: language, excessive sexual situations, fail, OOC-ness, Iggy not having satisfying sex

Pairing: UK/Canada

Disclaimer: I don't deserve to own Hetalia. Seriously, I really don't...

* * *

"Yes yes yes so bloody _close_." Arthur grunted, digging his fingers deeper in the already abused, motley flesh of his lover' hips as his thrusts became more erratic, more desperate. "Oh pet, my beautiful, precious—" His eyes screwed shut as he bent closer to the blond, his sweaty hair clinging to his face as the Englishman burrowed his face into the other's neck, murmuring incoherent endearments against rose red skin.

With one particularly vicious snap of his hips, the older nation felt his release tear through him and lean, impossibly long legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him closer. Arthur, already trembling with post-coital tremors, collapsed bonelessly onto the prone body below him, eliciting a soft exhale of breathe from his lover.

He panted, reluctantly peeling himself of the other's sweaty body, and rolled to the side, already reaching up and, grasping the other's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tugged the other over for a chaste kiss.

"Did you…?" He trailed off, pointedly, lips scant centimeters from the other's face.

"No." came the tired response and Arthur bit back a curse.

"Matthew—"

"It's okay." The North American nation reassured softly, already twisting towards his former caretaker and pressing up against the other's scarred body, sweet and kittenish. "Don't" he pressed a kiss to Arthur's jaw "worry" another to his cheek "about" one more to the corner of his mouth "it." He whispered, lips brushing teasingly along the other's.

And then, with a firm kiss on the lips, Matthew twisted back and untangled himself from the sheets, rising out of the bed.

Arthur watched, raising himself on his elbow, as the younger blond stretched. Green eyes traced the curve of the other's spine down to that strange little dimple in the small of Matthew's back that introduced the other's well-defined, prominent rear and muscled thighs. The delta where his upper thighs met his rear gleamed wetly in the sudden lamplight after Matthew carelessly flipped on the switch. Arthur's seed dripped down the back of the nation's milky thighs and the sandy-haired man would be a filthy liar if the sight didn't set his loins aflame.

"Just give me a minute, poppet and I'll be right as rain." He said with smirk.

"No, no its fine." Matthew repeated, looking over his shoulder and smiling at the other. "I'll just…take care of it." He said lightly, not once looking down at his leaking, flushed erection.

"Nonsense. Get your arse back here and—" Arthur, who had been pushing into a sitting position, suddenly froze, eye twitching when his back protested at the sudden movement.

The younger nation's faintly amused expression turned to that of concern. "Don't move!" He commanded, his voice betraying his worry. "I'll get some ice."

And, with that, he jogged out of the room, pounding down the stairs, as Arthur slumped back down onto the bed.

"Blast." He muttered, already sulking into his pillow.

* * *

"I would say it is because you are English, but somehow even that fails to describe how your current failure."

"You are the absolute last person to lecture me on failing, frog." Arthur hissed, leveling a ferocious glare at his longtime frenemy.

"At least I have never let a lover leave unsatisfied." Francis retorted, absently swirling his wine glass.

"Shut your gob!"

"Well, if you do not want my help…" The other European nation trailed off suggestively, already slipping out of his chair.

Arthur scrambled after him, grabbing his elbow and pulling him back down. "Sit back down, wanker."

Francis sighed, loudly and sounding incredibly put-upon. "Fine, fine." He said airily, sipping leisurely from his drink. "Continue."

"And then he gave me some aspirin, iced my back, and gave me a massage." The Englishman said curtly. "Then we went to sleep and shared a taxi to the conference."

"No 'morning delight'?"

At this Arthur reddened, scarlet reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. "…He said he didn't want me to strain my back any further."

Francis began to chuckle. "So he was not in the mood."

Arthur growled, looking very much like a flustered cat (his eyebrows bristling).

"It seems to me, _cher_." The older nation began, a vaguely mocking grin on his lips. "That _Mathieu_ finds you rather boring."

"Complete and utter crock."

"The magic is gone."

"Bollocks."

"The milk has soured."

"False."

"As Alfred would say, the 'honeymoon is over'."

Arthur stared at the other, fury bubbling in his stomach. "Matthew loves me, git."

"I never said he did not." Francis chided. "Merely that he is bored and cannot achieve climax because of it." The blond watched as the other nation spluttered for words, finally giving up and huffing, crossing his arms and tilting back in his seat.

"Bored?" Arthur repeated flatly. "I fail to see how."

"You're not a very good lover." Francis shrugged, ignoring Arthur's indignant snarl, sipping his wine. "And, _mon petit_ needs a lover who can keep up with his youthful vigor." He smiled sympathetically at the other. "Try to spice things up."

* * *

"Um, Arthur." Matthew began casually, eyes somewhat concerned as his lover hummed under his breath, snapping the handcuffs shut. "What's the occasion?"

"Hm?" Arthur pulled away, watching appreciatively at the way Matthew's arms were pulled taught, his biceps straining slightly with the new position. With a crooked grin, the former Empire leaned down and licked a languid stripe up the other's muscle, earning a giggle, before he bit down on the damp skin.

"Oh…" Matthew breathed out, his voice dipping into a coo, as he squirmed pleasantly under the other.

"Do I need an occasion to try something special?"

Matthew just smiled innocently, blinking his large eyes coyly.

"Minx." Arthur teased, tugging on the other's errant curl. When Matthew mewled and a pink blush flitted across his cheeks, his eyes darkened and he continued with his ministrations, alternating between dragging his nails down that single strand of hair and wrapping it around his finger and _pulling._

When Matthew was appropriately whining and panting, his hard-on pushing against his boxers, Arthur smirked victoriously.

"Boring, my arse." He muttered, already tugging Matthew's boxers down to free his prick.

"Hurry up." The wavy-haired blond grumbled, lips twisted into a scowl as Arthur teasingly slid the cotton fabric down his legs. "Just tear them off. They're Alfred's."

"Well, if they belong to that prat." Arthur began, before pausing. "Why are you wearing his knickers?"

Matthew gave him an incredulous look. "You've never worn Uncle Alistair's underwear?"

"Heavens no! He's completely starkers under that blooming kilt of his."

"Well…do we have to talk about this _now_?" The Canadian punctuated his question with an buck of his hips. "I want you in m—"

"Are you shagging him on the side?"

"What? Of course not! He's just as selfish in the bed as he is out!"

"So you have fucked him."

Matthew looked frustrated. "Yes, okay, _once._" He sighed. "But it was a really long time ago and I was lonely and he was just there."

Arthur said nothing.

"It didn't mean anything, Arthur." Matthew pleaded. "Trade between us was starting to take off—"

"You never mentioned it before."

"Because I knew you'd react like this." The other snapped, glaring up at his former guardian. "Why are you acting like this? Am I bringing up your century long sexcapade with Japan or France or Portugal or with over half of the world?"

Arthur looked somewhat contrite. "I'm sorry, love." He said softly, hoping an apology would be enough to soothe the anger on the other's face. Because, he'd be damned if he'd say anything along the lines of 'You're so young and I feel like a randy codger next to you and the fact I can't make you orgasm makes me feel woefully inadequate so I am lashing out at your past dalliances'.

(Which, you know, was technically true.)

Matthew just scowled at him. "I'm not in the mood." He gritted out. "Now uncuff me."

Arthur grudgingly moved off the bed and began to rummage around the room, picking up his trousers and searching through his pockets. After a few moments of fruitless searching and a few more minutes of frantic searching in the room with Matthew sighing and staring up at the ceiling, Arthur laughed nervously.

"I may have misplaced the key."

* * *

"And we tried again a few weeks later, but it was the same bloody issue." Arthur complained into his phone.

"Well…perhaps something else new?" Francis suggested, leaning back against the balcony, phone held between his ear and shoulder as he blew kisses at his pretty neighbor on the floor above him.

* * *

"Hey Mattie! I just got this new game from Kiku—OH GOD MY EYES." Alfred wailed, dropping the still-wrapped-in-plastic game and clutching his eyes as he turned around, blindly, and ran right into the wall, ricocheting back and crashing into the floor where he twitched (and moaned something that sounded like "they burn…they burn…").

"Oh for fuck's sake." Arthur grumbled, his head dropping and forehead falling to rest between Matthew's shoulder blades.

Matthew, who was currently pinned to his kitchen table by Arthur's firm body, cursed and jerked back, squirming and shoving the Englishman's hands off him.

Arthur swore when Matthew shoved him away, his prick still painfully hard and coated in lube. Glaring daggers at both blonds, the older nation reluctantly tucked himself back into his trousers as Matthew rushed to pull up his pants and shirt before washing his hands and smoothing his hair back into some semblance of tidiness.

"Al! Al!" He shouted, kneeling next to his brother and shaking him. "Should we take him to a hospital?" He asked, a little frantic, looking back at Arthur.

"What's the point?" Arthur snapped, leaning against the cabinets. "The wanker can't really die." He added, under his breath. "Oh, but how I wish that he would."

* * *

"Matthew, if you could glance over this proposal, I'd be quite…grateful…" Matthew's Boss blinked disbelievingly, the proposal slipping from his hand and landing with a dull _thump_.

"Fuck it all." Arthur swore, staring darkly at the middle-aged human (who quickly averted his eyes).

"_Crisse. _Boss!" Matthew babbled, already elbowing Arthur in the face and pushing himself off his desk, hands scrambling for something to cover his cock (and spare his poor Boss any more glimpses of the Great White North—glorious and free).

* * *

"And now we're both unsatisfied." Arthur stirred some milk into his tea. "And stop laughing or I will stab you with this spoon." He held the delicate, silver sugar spoon threateningly at the chortling blond.

"Perhaps," Francis paused to cackle. "You should lock the door first."

* * *

"Are all those really necessary?" Matthew asked curiously, watching in bemusement as the older nation checked each and every lock he had installed on the door to his flat.

"Quite necessary, love." Arthur replied distractedly. With one final satisfied nod, the sandy-haired man turned around and smiling charmingly at the other. "Now, where were we..?"

Matthew smiled, a little weakly. "Arthur, I have something to tell you."

"Can't it wait, pet?" The older nation murmured, sauntering towards the other with hooded eyes.

"No it really can't—"

"I have quite the night planned for you." Arthur purred, eyes narrowed as he tilted Matthew's head up slightly with one finger. "I'll have you screaming by the end—"

"I think we need to take a break."

"—and you'll cum like you've nev—I beg your pardon?"

* * *

Bwhahahahahaha. For once I'm working with an already existing UK/Canada relationship. Poor Iggy is an old man with a sexy, young lover. Poor Canada has his own issues.

Btw, I imaged Stephen Harper walking in on England balls-deep in Canada and I nearly bust a lung laughing. I think I scared everyone around me. XD

Worth continuing?


	2. Chapter 2

Who's excited for a new chapter? I decided I might as well take advantage of this UK/Canada fire burning in my gut and churn out updates before exams kill me and hide my body. XD

Warnings: language, fail, OOC-ness, Drunk!Arthur

Pairing: UK/Canada

Disclaimer: Look down and back up. If I owned Hetalia, we'd all be diamonds. ...On a horse...

* * *

"Perhaps you have had enough." Francis suggested, reaching across the table and began to surreptitiously tug away the bottle of whiskey Arthur had promptly removed from the depths of his trench coat the moment he sat down.

The bottle was about half-full (or half-empty, I suppose, considering the Brit's mindset), and, if Arthur had his way, it would soon be empty and he'd be lapping at the inside of the bottleneck to get those last, elusive drops.

But, the other nation merely growled and swatted at the other's hand, missing completely and taking out the innocent peppershaker on the table and sending it careening to the floor.

"Sod off." He enunciated, perfectly to Francis's astonishment. "I am not drunk." He pointed at the French nation, green eyes squinted. "I am not drunk because I can still smell you."

"You have had enough, _cher._"

"You smell of dashed imperial aspirations and moldy cheese." The other continued accusingly.

"Wow, he is really far gone." Alfred whistled around his soda straw. The superpower was sitting in a backwards chair, his elbows perched on the table as his bright blue eyes flickered between the other nations. "By the way, you do smell like moldy cheese."

"Why is he here?" Arthur scowled, lower lip already trembling. "Can…can it be? Have you come back to me, lad? Have you returned to your daddy?" He wailed, trying to stagger to his feet and pull Alfred into a hug at the same time. "I'll even forgive you for dumping my tea into your bloody harbour!" He sniffled, still trying to grope for the America (who kept leaning back, evading the other's flailing arms).

"Why are you here?" Francis asked curiously, ignoring the stares from the other patrons of the restaurant.

"Did I not hug you enough? Did I forget to put cucumber into your tea sandwiches?"

"Well, Artie practically tackled me and started crying about a second chance and how he was so lonely and how if I just accompany him to the washroom, he'd give me the best orgasm of my life." Alfred shrugged, totally nonchalant. "And at first, I was like, 'hell no dude', but then I remembered that he was dating Mattie but before I could ask if they broke up, for legit, he wandered away and I followed him."

"So, _Mathieu_ has left you?" Francis inquired, a little taken aback by the revelation.

"I am so sad!" Arthur whined. It wasn't his most eloquent statement, true, but the amount of grief and emotion he managed to pack into those four words was quite poignant.

"But he adores you."

The Englishman's head dropped to the table with a defining _thunk_.

Even Alfred looked sympathetic.

"That blows, man." He shook his head, sipping from his drink thoughtfully. "So, you and Mattie are completely finito?...Does bro code still count in this instance? 'Cause, I mean, technically Matt and I dated before you two hooked up so you broke it before me but I'll still wait, like, three weeks before I—"

Francis slapped a hand over the babbling blond's mouth. "It is quiet time."

Arthur's head jerked up. "_Dated_?" He asked, incredulously. "Matthew said it was a one-time thing."

"He told you?" Alfred and Francis asked in unison, earning a withering glare from the drunk nation.

"I mean, of course he told you." Alfred chuckled. "Yeah, well…fine." He huffed out. "It was a one time thing." He admitted with a blush. "And I have no idea why. It was awesome too. We were drinking hot cocoa one minute and the next Matthew's naked, in my lap—"

"Alfred." Francis scolded, tilting his head towards Arthur (who was wibbling) meaningfully.

But the younger nation, who could not read the atmosphere to save his life, just gave the European a weird look. "Something wrong with your head?"

"…and then?" Arthur said, hoarsely.

"Oh right! And then we're having the most mind-blowingly, heroically fantastic sex _ever_. Seriously! Mattie, like, blacked out when he came. I'm pretty sure we woke the neighbors." Alfred sighed, smile dreamy. "Good times."

Francis was covering his face with one hand. "_Mon dieu._" He muttered.

"And then you know what happened the next morning?" Alfred continued, indignant, sitting up straighter. "He brings me breakfast in bed and I'm all like 'hey, let me eat these eggs off your stomach' and Matt's like 'let's never have sex again'." He slumped back down, a petulant twist to his lips. "And then he takes a shower, comes back, asks how my food is and then leaves. Just fucking leaves!"

"Well, I feel rather better." Arthur said after a pause. "Matthew just told me we needed a respite. He didn't tell me to never touch him again."

Alfred stuck his tongue out at the Englishman. "I bet he was just trying to keep from hurting your feelings." He sulked. "I bet he also told you that it wasn't you, it was him."

"…As a matter of fact, he did."

Both Alfred and Francis gave him pitying looks.

"Perhaps you should keep drinking?" Francis suggested silkily, nudging the whiskey towards the English nation.

* * *

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Matthew asked fretfully, fingers loosing the knot of his tie, as he leaned against the brick wall of the conference building.

"Are you happy?" Willem countered, tilting his head back and expelling the smoke from his mouth, around the stem of his pipe. The grayish plumes curled around his face, drifting upwards.

"N-no." Matthew whispered, toeing the hard ground with his leather dress shoes. "But I really did need a break to sort things out." He sighed, absently threading his fingers through blond locks.

"Arthur isn't taking things well at all." The Dutch nation said casually. "I'm fairly sure he was drunk during his speech."

"What tipped you off?" Matthew said dryly. "Was it when he stumbled to the podium or when he offered to take Spain sailing for 'old time's sake'?"

"Actually, it was around the time he started reminiscing about getting high with China in an opium den in Shanghai."

Matthew winced and covered his face with his hands. "I didn't think he'd take it so badly!" He moaned. "This is all my fault. I should just go and tell him I'm sorry and it was all a mistake and then—"

Willem's arm shot out and grabbed the younger nation by the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Think of yourself for once." He scolded, not really harsh but stern enough that Matthew's ramblings calmed. "You told him you needed some time to think."

"Yes."

"You told him that your sexual dysfunction wasn't his fault."

"Even though it is, yes."

"And you told him that it wasn't for forever."

"Of course."

"And that your Boss isn't upset that you're having extra diplomatic meetings with England."

"I specifically emphasized that." Matthew slumped against the wall. "Maybe it's unfair of me to just run away instead of talking to Arthur, but how am I supposed to explain this to him?"

Willem calmly puffed on his pipe, content to let his close friend vent.

"I mean, all we ever do is have sex. I like sex but if that was the only thing I liked, I wouldn't be with Arthur—he's very attentive but he could work on his technique. But I want more than that. I want to do other things with him. Like see a play!" He turned to look at the taller nation. "We haven't gone to a play since Victoria was queen." Matthew's face turned pained. "I'm terrified, though, that he doesn't want that too. What if he just wants my body? It wouldn't be the first time." He murmured.

Willem sighed, reaching over and wrapping an arm around the younger nation. "I highly doubt, judging by his behavior, that that's the case." He tugged the blond closer, sighing.

"Its embarrassing." Matthew said quietly. "I can't perform and I can't tell him anything. It's not much of a relationship. The only time he's ever said 'love' to me, is that little endearment but he calls his secretary the same thing when she brings him tea. I tell him I love him all the time."

"That's why you're taking a break." Willem reassured him. "Knowing him, he's probably trying to figure out what he did wrong—he's just been a little sidetracked by alcohol. So, now you need to think about what you want and tell him your decision." He laughed lightly. "For someone who advocates talk, you are very bad at it, my little peacekeeper."

"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me." Matthew pouted, resting his head against the other.

* * *

"…Everything okay, Artie?" Alfred asked tentatively.

"Yes, why wouldn't it?" Arthur snapped.

"…Because you're hiding behind a bush." The superpower pointed out, looking around and catching sight of Matthew and Willem. "Hey, look its Ma—"

"Git!" Arthur hissed, grabbing the other's jacket and dragging him down, ignoring the other's yelp. "First questioning me—can't a man kneel behind some shrubbery in peace?—and then almost blowing my cover. What the bloody fuck is wrong with you?"

"Well, first of all, sorry for being concerned." Alfred scowled, dusting off his jacket as he pushed himself off the ground. "And secondly? Secret agent my ass. I could see you from the parking lot. James Bond would be _ashamed_."

Arthur shushed him, green eyes trained on the pair of nations chatting over by the building.

"Dude, he dumped you. Now you just look sketchy and desperate and clingy." Alfred shook his head. "No one likes a clingy ex."

"He didn't dump me—no matter what you twits say. He said we needed a break." The green-eyed man stated firmly. "I'm just making sure no one takes advantage of Matthew in his vulnerable time."

"I'm pretty sure he's okay." Alfred responded, watching as Willem and Matthew began to practically cuddle.

"That cur! Can't he stick to prepubescent girls?" The Brit snarled, prominent eyebrows trembling in barely contained fury. "Taking advantage of my—"

"Mattie doesn't look like he's complaining."

"—Shut your gob. Matthew is inherently incapable of doing anything wrong. He is an angel and a shining beacon of kindness and beauty in this dull, drab world." Arthur replied with the same amount of conviction one would have when saying "The sky is blue" or "Arthur's cooking is death on a plate", resolutely ignoring Alfred's "but he shot Gilbert in the knee and then stomped on his face". "Matthew is one of my finest accomplishments and is one of the best things in my life. He is my favorite now and I will cut out your tongue if you besmirch his good name anymore, thou beslubbering fat-kidneyed bugbear!"

"…What?"

Arthur was seething were he crouched.

Alfred sighed. "You know, whatever. Lets say you're right and Matthew really wants to 'take a break'—"

"Don't put that into quotation marks, wanker."

"—maybe you should prove to Matthew that you're not a hopeless, romantically-retarded, old, dried out husk of an empire." The bespectacled nation grinned brightly. "I mean, you can't exactly threaten him with economic sanctions—because I will veto the shit out of that—or cut off trade or even spank him—not that you ever did." Alfred gave him a pointed glare. "He broke that rose teacup, you know."

"Pish-posh." Arthur answered, absent-mindedly, already planning his next move.

He was Arthur (fucking) Kirkland, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

He got what he wanted, through whatever means necessary.

Arthur began to chortle, saying, "If I could conquer you once, Matthew love, I can do it again!", Alfred quietly pointed out, "Didn't Francis pretty much hand him to you?".

Pointedly ignoring the naysayer, Arthur rose to his feet and strode off.

Alfred went to find Francis. ...And a camcorder because the meeting was about to get _crazy_.

* * *

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